


Worth It

by ShrimpZilla



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShrimpZilla/pseuds/ShrimpZilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor finds out that it's hard to love an addict.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> written for the dragon age kink meme

“Can you teach me any healing spells?” She asks Dorian as her hands play across the spines of books in the library. She’s looking for something, anything that might help her help him.   
  
“What makes you think I know anything about healing spells?” He’s scanning the shelves himself, hand on his chin as he sends her a quick sidelong glance. She hasn’t told him what she’s looking for. She can’t tell if he’s trying to guess or simply looking for the sake of something to do. She wants to tell him but she’s also scared. Only Cassandra knows. She doesn’t want to spread the secret and Dorian can be a bit of a gossip.  
  
“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Necromancy, healing. Sort of vaguely the same?” They had real healers but very few and none could spare the time to teach her. She had never showed proficiency in it, had always struggled in the Tower until she been allowed to cease her paltry efforts.   
  
“Well, if that’s what you think then we can all send up a prayer that you aren’t a healer,” he snorts. Her fingers stop on a book that’s title seems promising. She pulls it out and holds it open in her palm, leafing through the pages as her eyes search for key words. Pain management. Withdrawal. Lyrium. “What exactly are you looking for? I’ve seen you pass over several books on the more straightforward healing spells and combat practicality.”  
  
“It’s not healing healing I’m interested in,” she mutters. “I’m not trying to learn to mend flesh or anything. Maker knows I haven’t got the talent for that.” She can feel Dorian’s eyes on her and when she looks up he’s got an eyebrow raised. His gaze is penetrating and heavy as if he’s trying to read her mind. He’s probably a little hurt that she’s being so reluctant to share. She puts the book back on the shelf when it provides her with no information. She turns her attention to books about potions, thinking that might be a more lucrative focus. Dorian follows her fingertips, watches them trace the titles that catch her interest.  
  
“You know, it’s no fun being on this side of the secret.” She looks at him guiltily. He picks a book she’s just grabbed from her hands and leafs through it casually. “If I can guess you have to tell me. That’s how things like this work, after all.” He hums thoughtfully. “Now, my first guess would be that you’re pregnant but I’ve seen you drinking that horrid smelling tea.” Dorian’s eyes flit up from the page and he smirks at her. “Which also, by the way, is a good way for everyone to tell when you’ve just spent the night ravishing your Commander. Personally I wouldn’t have thought the man had that much in him but,” he titters a laugh, “I’ve been surprised before.” She blushes a little and purses her lips, makes an attempt at swiping the book back from him. “The fact that you’re being so reticent also leads me to believe that you aren’t really looking for yourself.”  
  
“Dorian,” she says sternly as he closes the book and holds it above her head. She goes on her tiptoes and manages to brush the edge with her fingers. “It’s not funny.”   
  
“Patience, patience.” He leaves the book to rest on a shelf out of her reach and walks towards a different section. He waggles his fingers at her. She casts a glance at the book above her head and reluctantly follows. “Here,” he says when she finds him. He shoves a book into her hands. She looks at it with suspicion but his expression pushes her to at least look. She flips the pages, expecting the same lack of anything substantial that the rest had provided. 

“Dorian,” she says in surprise. The other mage grins his typical self-satisfied grin. “How did you know?” She feels her eyebrows come together tightly. Cullen has told her that only Cassandra knows about what was going on. Has he recently shared with Dorian and forgotten to mention it?  
  
“I’m offended! Do you think I’m as oblivious as the rest of this hodge-podge we call a team?” He scoffs. “The man and I have had standing chess dates since we got to Skyhold. Was I supposed to pretend not so notice something was going on? Or to not look into it in my oh so valuable free time?” She holds the book to her chest. Dorian puts a hand on her shoulder, a softness overcoming his features. “There isn’t much in there about easing the symptoms if anyone will find a way it’s you.”  
  
\--  
  
She goes to Cullen that night with the potion that Dorian has helped to craft. It isn’t a cure or even something to lessen the symptoms. It will just ease the pain and help him sleep deeply enough that the nightmares won’t plague him. When she enters his office she finds him sitting at his desk, his fingers rubbing circles at his temple while he read. She closes the door behind her and he looks up at the sound. She sees the tired lines of his face ease even as she notices the pronounced darkness under his eyes.   
  
“Do you have a minute?” She asks playfully. His lips twitch into a smile and he leans back from whatever he has been hunched over. She saunters over, swaying her hips with purpose, and leans against the edge of his desk. She watches his eyes trailing up her body, lingering on the places that she craves his touch most. He reaches out with a lecherous grin and pulls her onto his lap. She squeals as he presses his lips to her neck.   
  
“For you? Of course.” His voice sends shivers down her spine. She wraps her arms around his neck as she balances on his lap. She tries to ignore the way his skin feels clammy against her hands.   
  
“How’re you feeling?” She manages to ask as his mouth finds a place along her jaw that makes her toes curl. He mumbles something against her. She moves her hands to his face and pulls it away so that she can look at him. “You look tired.” She rubs the dark circles beneath his eyes.   
  
“I’m fine,” he insists. He turns his head and kisses at her hand, lips pushing tight to the pulse point on her wrist. But she knows that he isn’t. Beneath the sweat his skin is wan, his eyes bloodshot. She wishes he would tell her exactly what was bothering him. He has barley brought anything up since she walked in on him freaking out weeks ago. He grows agitated under her scrutiny, sighs and turns his attention back to the papers on his desk.  
  
“I brought you something,” she says. She pulls the flask from where she had it tied to her belt. “It should help you sleep.” He takes it from her and looks at it. She sees a muscle in his jaw tense as he clenches his mouth. “Is something wrong?”  
  
“No,” he says quickly and with significant volume. “Nothing is wrong. I’ve told you that. I keep telling you that, but you keep asking.” He looks up at her with his brow furrowed and his mouth set. She blinks.

“I thought, with your withdrawal and everything…” She shakes her head and pulls back from him slightly. “You’re sick, Cullen. You can’t pretend you’re not.” He puts the flash on the desk hard enough that things rattle. He looks offended, betrayed and she tries to stifle the similar feelings brewing in her chest.   
  
“I am not a child that needs to be coddled.” He rubs his forehead again and she knows it means there’s a migraine building in his skull. She wants to argue, yell, insist that he stop acting like a selfish child. “If I was feeling sick I would mention it.” He shakes his head and tries to reign in the volume of his voice. “Your time is valuable and would be better spent on things for the Inquisition not,” he gestures towards the flask with an air of disapproval, “wasted on things like this.” She slides off his lap, throwing her hands up in defeat.   
  
“Fine, Cullen. I’m sorry. I was just trying to help my boyfriend.” He stands as well and she realizes that they are about to fight.   
  
“That is not your priority!” She feels righteous anger building in her. But it fades when she looks at him, the sickness pouring from him even as he tries to insist otherwise. Her determination falters. How can she yell at him and add a level of stress to his life? He is trying so hard. She puts her face in her hands for a moment, takes a deep breath.   
  
“I… maybe I should go?” He sighs, swipes at the back of his neck. She hopes he’ll tell her to say.   
  
“Maybe… maybe you should.”  
  
\--  
  
The Inquisitor flops down in her tent and takes a bite out of a piece of bread. Her muscles ache. Her feet are cold. She shivers and burrows herself further into the blankets. She takes a moment to relish the quiet moment. There are no demons or Templars just at this moment. She sighs and turns on her side, pulling at the pile of letters that the scout has given her. Most are requisition requests. She glances at them before putting them to the side. Finally she comes across a letter with her name, Inquisitor Trevelyan, written in a tight and easily recognizable penmanship. She sits up and opens it.  
  
She reads it once eager and excited for whatever Cullen might have written. But she reaches the end with confusion. The letter is just a jumble of half-formed thoughts. She swallows the tight knot that forms in her throat and tries to read it again. She bites her lip and stamps down the mounting sense of concern. She lays back down and pulls the blanket over her head, holding the letter to her chest. She closes her eyes and tries to breath passed the pressure in her chest that’s moving towards her eyes. She cries as quietly as she can manage, shivering as her mind floods with thoughts of Cullen and his suffering. She wishes she could be there for him, wishes he would let her in, wishes that she what she could do to ease him through this time in his life.   
  
She wakes up later to a face tight with dried tears. She rubs her cheeks and sniffles, looking down at the letter. She wipes her nose and goes through her tent until she finds a clean piece of paper. She sits back down and bits her lip before dragging a quill over to her makeshift writing station. There is so much she wants to say to him. So many feelings she wants to make sure he understands. Somehow she doesn’t know how to begin. She worries if she begins to write she won’t be able to stop. She’ll go on for pages and pages. In the morning Cassandra will find her bent over a books worth of obnoxious love poetry.   
  
So instead she pulls back, condenses every overwhelming thought and feeling, every skipped heartbeat and butterfly in her stomach, every hope and dream for their future. She writes simply: I love you, folds the letter, and places it with her things so that she can give it to the scout in the morning. She crawls back into her sleeping bag, holds the letter from Cullen in her frozen fingers, and falls back to sleep. 

\--  
She stirs and reaches out across the bed. Her fingers close on pillows and sheets and empty air. She opens her eyes and blinks into the darkness. Her hand searches and still finds nothing. She sits up, running her fingers through her sleep tousled hair. “Cullen?” She calls into her room. She hears a noise that is not a response to her call, a noise that sounds suspiciously like a frightened sob. She gets out of the large bed and pads over to the door that leads to the bathroom. She puts her ear against the door and listens to the sounds coming from within. Crying, muffled whimpers. She pushes open the door. “Cullen?”  
  
She summons fire to her fingers and lights the candles so that she can see. Cullen looks up at her from the corner that he has crammed himself into. There is blood on the floor. She lowers herself to her knees and reaches out to him. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” He pulls from her hand, a startled sound echoing against the walls. It breaks her heart. “What happened?” She whispers. She can see a razor on the floor and when he raises his head from his knees she can see cut across his cheek.   
  
“I was shaving,” he states sheepishly. Carefully she moves closer.  
  
“In the dark?” He shakes his head, confused and embarrassed. His shirt is stained with blood. The cut doesn’t look deep and it has stopped bleeding. She wonders how long he has been like this. Her chest aches. There is no sense of recognition in his eyes when he looks at her. It breaks her more than anything that has happened to her yet.   
  
“I thought… I had to… Recruits should be clean shaven…” He mutters. She bites her lip and edges closer. When she reaches out this time he doesn’t shirk away. She runs her fingers through his hair and suppresses her whimper when tears spill from his eyes at her touch. “I’m so confused,” he whispers. She pulls him into her arms. He folds against her easily, his shoulders trembling as a new round of hysterics opens upon him.   
  
“Sh…” She soothes. She continues to run her fingers through his hair. Her other hand rubs his back. “Cullen, it’s all right. It’s all right.” She kisses his curls and tries to keep her breath even. Her own vision is blurring with tears as she feels the heated drops of Cullen’s on her chest.   
  
“Why is this happening to me?” His voice cracks with pain. She grips him tighter. “Why won’t it stop? Why don’t I just die?” She realizes she is quivering as he does. She plants more kisses on his forehead.   
  
“I love you, Cullen,” she says. She stares blankly at the razor and the blood. She pictures him standing in the dark with his shaking hands as he tries to shave. She closes her eyes and pulls her lips into a hard frown. “I love you,” she whispers not knowing what else she can do except hold him until the terror passes.   
  
\--  
  
Cullen is holding her shoulder tight enough that is almost hurts. His thumb presses into her clavicle. She rolls her shoulder in an attempt at loosening his grip. It does nothing. “Cullen…” She looks into his eyes which are staring at her with a wild mix of concern and suspicion. He swallows and runs his tongue along dry, cracked lips. “I’m not possessed,” she insists and not for the first time. She worries if he continues staring at her he’ll see the tears in her eyes or the lines of grief and pain on her face. He levels his face to hers, his fingers digging deeper for a moment before he releases her and takes a step back. She breathes a sigh of relief. 

“So it seems,” he mutters more to himself than her. He’s pacing, frantic energy spilling off of him waves. She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin on them while her eyes follow him. She doesn’t know what to say. Sometimes it feels like her silence is better than any words she can offer. “We have to be on guard against this.” He runs his hands over his face before turning to look at her again. “You do not understand the danger blood magic poses. I have seen the havoc that magic unchecked can bring.” His tone is clipped. His eyes are distant. She wonders which atrocities from his past he’s imagining.   
  
“I know,” she yeses him. He stares at her with a tense face. It is a long, overwrought moment before he nods.  
  
“Yes, of course you do.”  
  
“Are you ready for dinner?” She asks. Cullen looks at the papers on his desk. She thinks it bodes well. If he's able to focus on his work then that means that whatever anxieties have been plaguing him are abating. She stretches her legs out and stands.   
  
“Yes.” She leans in lands a kiss on his cheek, a subtle bit of intimacy to ground him in the now. She hears his sharp inhale, the way his body jumps away, the flash of uncertainty in his eye. She falls back on her heels and cannot stop the pain that wells up in her at the reaction. “I’m sorry. I—“ She shakes her head, lowering her gaze to the floorboards as tears catch in her eyelashes.  
  
“It’s fine. Um, I’ll… meet you at dinner? I forgot I had to do something.” She turns before he can say anything and leaves his room. Her breath hitches as she tries to quell her sobs. Behind her she hears Cullen’s angry curse accompanied by something being thrown to the floor. She doesn’t turn back, taking the steps two at a time to put it all behind her.   
  
\--  
  
She walks up the stairs to her room with her eyes nearly closed. Another long trek across the country closing rifts and hunting down cultists. She holds her staff loosely, the bottom dragging behind her and banging off each step in turn. She wants a bath. She wants her bed. Once through the door to her quarters she drops her staff, begins undoing the buckles to her armor, kicks off her boots. She pulls off her armored robes and lets them fall where they may. She drops herself onto her bed and groans tiredly. Distantly she hears the sound of someone knocking on her door. She groans again and rolls onto her back. “Come in!”   
  
She recognizes the sound of Cullen’s footsteps even before she sees him appear at the top of her stairs. She pushes herself into a sitting position and watches as he smiles at her nervously. “You disappeared before I got a chance to welcome you home.” She lets herself fall back down onto the bed.  
  
“I’m exhausted.”   
  
“I, um, I wanted to apologize for my behavior lately.” He takes a step closer, rubs his hand on the back his neck while staring out the window. “I know it hasn’t been easy to be with me…” She watches him but can’t bring herself to say anything. If he expects her to insist otherwise she isn’t going to. “You’ve been wonderful.” He brings himself to sit on the edge of the bed and she drapes her legs over his. His hands begin rubbing her feet and calves. Her eyes flutter at the relaxing sensation. “I tried to think of a way to apologize, to show you how much I value you…” He clears his throat. “I tried to write you poem.” He’s blushing furiously when she squints at him.   
  
“Was that Cassandra’s advice?” He laughs, some of the tension broken by her simple addition to the conversation.  
  
“Yes, it was.” She reaches out and rubs his arm. “I love you. I… I wish I was the man you deserve.” He leans down and kisses her knee and then the other. “I’ve put you through so much. Said terrible things to you.” He reaches over and takes the hand from his arm and kisses her fingers. She smiles, the ache of being away slowly dissipating.   
  
“It’s been hard,” she admits. Pain and guilt flashes across his face. “But I love you more than anything. You’re worth it.”


End file.
